Blessings Fam! Thank you, editors of Midway Journal, for publishing my poem, “A Completed Work.” I hope this brings reflection.
#MiDWaYjournal #brokensleepbooks #spaldingmfa #amwriting #poetrylife #poetry #poet #StickHookandaPileofYarn
midwayjournal.com/a-completed-...
@bsky.app Blessings Fam! Thank you, editors of Midway Journal, for publishing my poem, “A Completed Work.” I hope this brings reflection
#MiDWaYjournal #brokensleepbooks #spaldingmfa #amwriting #poetrylife #poetry #poet #StickHookandaPileofYarn
midwayjournal.com/a-completed-...
Hallo! Giving thanks to the editors of Frazzled Lit, out of Ireland, for publishing my pantoum poem, “My Mind Channels,” in Issue 4 of their journal.
#frazzledlit #brokensleepbooks #spaldingmfa #amwriting #poetrylife #poetry #poet #StickHookandaPileofYarn
www.frazzledlit.com/p/my-mind-ch...
Blessings! I want to give thanks to the editors of Neologism Poetry Journal, Issue #102, for publishing my poem “Our Eclipse of Sunset.”
#NeologismPoetry #brokensleepbooks #spaldingmfa #amwriting #poetrylife #poetry #poet #StickHookandaPileofYarn
@highlight
www.neologismpoetry.com/November-202...
Grand Rising and Blessings.
2 Poems “Softening the Noise,” “I am from me,” in Mindful Poetry Moments 2025 Anthology
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Thank you for supporting
If We Remember In a South London elderly home, the residents had finished their midday meal, now marionettes with strings unstressed, sunken into each puffed red lazy chair around the room. Our uncle was wide-eyed, shifting in his ninety-seventh loop around the sun. His now and memories are dancing, fleeting memories selfish for attention in his mind. Then, I shifted time selfishly, the marionettes latched me to a summer between college years, working with my mum, watching her with seasoned residents, a lead bee swiftly hopping within a hive, bringing care, communicating, coaxing, carrying those with frail tree branches, frames waving in the wind. The sound of the domino box ting on the table, jolted me back with our uncle, his eyes shining as I swirled the domino cards, as we Jamaicans called them. Touching the dominoes, uncle was tethered to this instant, seventies Abba songs filling the room from the television blending with domino card clacks, the staccato coughs and moans from those in their time-locked slumber around us, great-uncle, niece, great-nephew gathered around a serving table, being present, taking videos to slow down the string of time racing through fingers, holding on to the moment he said domino.
I am thankful to the editors of Loud Coffee Press for publishing this poem, “If We Remember.”
Link: (Page 8)
www.loudcoffeepress.com/lcp-issue-20
#loudcoffeepress #brokensleepbooks #spaldingmfa #amwriting #poetrylife #poetry #poet #StickHookandaPileofYarn
www.peepaltreepress.com/blog/inscrib...
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In the kaleidoscope of autumn leaves Mervyn Seivwright I look for light, the harmonizing glow, the fiery feeling, yet the leaves flash to brittle browning more hastily this year. I wish to greet each set of eyes locked with my energy this day, the gift of breath seems an embrace enough with icons falling as age-old oak trees once on fertile, now gritty frail ground. I need to be the lighthouse, the fog thicker, the rocks sharper, the sea, an unrestricted unrest. I seek to be a space, listening, tender bliss enough for that moment, cheerfulness harvests a smile in return and even when it’s too cold to snow joyful tears can still warm cheeks to chin. If I could crack the egg layers of anxiety we hyper sow from the ones and zeroes slinging our eyes across screen projecting successive voices in an alley cat yard peeling skin from each end of the compass, I could be the sun, a torch for the heart of shared accepted teddy bear hugs, forest green moss breathing life in lungs, be the instant when hope encompasses us. I would know when the shadows compress with darkening cracks, a pinhole of acute light would find a way.
Hi #BlueSky!
Sharing a #poem just #published about my way to move forward in this social #climate. “In the kaleidoscope of autumn leaves.”
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Hello #Bluesky!
I can finally share my poem, “Presently Me,” which was one of two finalists for the 2023 C.P. Cavafy Poetry Prize.
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@followers
poetryinternationalonline.com/presently-me/
Blessings #Blueesky! Today, I share my first publication of the year from the editors of The Basilisk Tree, my poem, “My Echoed Instants.
#Basilisktree #brokensleepbooks #spaldingmfa #amwriting #poetrylife #poetry #poet #StickHookandaPileofYarn #poetrylife
basilisktree.com/-v3i1-mervyn...
Sunrising From the Mind - XVII I bring the shadows to the river, wider from spring showers, carving the banks deeper. The moss has painted itself here. The path of the valley, thinner to tread while my shadow plays bounce and blend in breaks betwixt broken trunks, stone stairs, tall sliding stones. My thoughts vanish, feeling the river’s trickle and white bubble-womps. My skin is sensitive to the air with quilted comfort. Each thrush and blackbird are tweaking solos. It is here I ground my feet in the soaked soil and fuse.
Grand Rising #bluesky
This is a #poem #published from a future collection to share.
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#poetrycommunity #SpaldingMFA #amwriting #Skypoets #poetlife
Manifest Predestinate Man Society inculcates us to chase our goals never surrender mining through mountains what makes a man a shepherd the long warmth of arms—embracing what makes a man a shepherd the long crooked stick—swinging an acorn crushed in a man’s hands will breed no generations acreages of land claimed when it is tilled by one man’s order possessing a populace grains of DNA in a rat’s jolting-labyrinth disloyal blood grated irrigating the grime is a required tribute infinite seeds slip through fingers of small town folks adolescent breathless bones the mortar of tenement tower rubble a restraining cage of souls human festering fertilization stench does not stain clinical high-rise-arched palaces if vocal cords can be severed unable to vibrate erupt trade winds will sputter voices hiss
Hello #bluesky
Sharing a new #poem previously published by Poetry.Onl in 2022.
#poet #poetry #poetsofbluesky #blacksky #BlueskyPoets
#poetrycommunity #SpaldingMFA #amwriting #Skypoets #poetlife
Duality in Mountain Memory When my Granddad passed I found out we were mountain people in Jamaica, my mum scaled trees on dirt paths, no safe road cliff barriers except for the flowers, colors of warning connecting to this German village I have found. When my Granddad passed, I remember the dominoes clanging on tables in a village, a decade past kerosene lights in the present, where chickens freely roam unaware of hot water, and their last cluck. I found out we were mountain people as the one I live on, both share a fusion of forest flayed between fields of tall grass, walking miles winding trails for water in and out of the trees. My mum scaling trees reaping sweet starfruits, mangoes, plum, papaya as a spider, then called Tomboy, she had fierce courage, hearkening the stories she told me, endeavors gapped amid store market strolls. On dirt paths, I wondered of my mum in the fields, working before school days, dancing in puddled potholes, shifting for honking horns of cars around corners. I wander the cobblestones, considering the history in my village, far across the Atlantic Sea. The daffodils, tulips, buttercups brightly lead me into a forest shaken, stirred by nature’s twisting force pulling strings of harmony, snow, wind, thunder, and lightning’s chaos in our eyes, until nature’s painting has dried. Connection finds me coupled with my mum’s youth, the hills I am scaling, lost in Hansel and Gretel hinterland country, syncopated scents of fruits and flowers, hidden with green moss fluorescent on the rockface, a chorus of finches claim mornings, a thread stringing this homeland in me.
Hello #bluesky
It has been a while. #Life is about shifts. I am sharing a #poem about #memories.
#poet #poetry #poetsofbluesky #blacksky #BlueskyPoets
#poetrycommunity #SpaldingMFA #amwriting #Skypoets #poetlife
Blessing fam. Three Newly Published Poems Released Today!!!. Thanks to the editors of Across the Margin Journal for selecting my poems.
#Acrossthemargin #brokensleepbooks #spaldingmfa #amwriting #poetrylife #poetry #poem #poet #amwriting #poetrycommunity
acrossthemargin.com/three-poems-...
Winter’s Whispering Winter's stillness brings whispering winds without leaves as sails whistling. Winter whispers quicken movements of field mice not cuddled from cooling earth wandering for leftover grain. Winter whispers ice forming as we sleep snuggled in heat warming blankets, hot water bottles wishing not to wake for work. We whisper in our morning bed wrestling eyes while listening to humming whispers of the refrigerator, central heater’s moans and our breaths.
Sharing a winter #poem in the Ohio Valley.
#poet #poetry #poetsofbluesky #blacksky #BlueskyPoets
#poetrycommunity #SpaldingMFA #amwriting #Skypoets
Laura’s Wind Off that Mississippi River Between the cypress And banana trees Around cayenne And banana pepper plants. Next to the dirty green round tad poles bowls And egg plants By a missing burnt kitchen space And food storage. Under the big house In canary yellow Frame outline In sky blue Under the big house In creole diction Lays story in pictures And fragments broken. Over a cellar of wine And building tools Beyond the field Past the manor’s garden Before the crops Long tall strands Of sugarcane crops Extending beyond my sight. I hear them whispering In the silent place Between each of the wind's breaths. Ancestors from these wooden shacks Prison cell depths size shacks Where families Would curl stacked As puzzle pieces When allowed to rest. Southern slaves With tattoo brands Like cattle Infused DNA beneath the skin Conditioned to serve. Most bared the sun To blow the horn of blues Upon their backs To farm the crops Where wealth was made Because they were taught to serve Breed to serve Raised to serve Harvested to serve. They forgot to cry Cry for freedom Never taught What freedom gave Only knowing the condition Of where their puzzle piece Was born. Though seasons of them have passed I can feel a breeze Deep in my skin hairs bubbled up I saw the expression In my young son's face. They are watching While in their presence In the plantation By Laura's name.
Sharing a #poem written at a Sugar Plantation outside New Orleans.
#poem #poet #poetry #poetsofbluesky #poetsonbluesky #blacksky #poetrycommunity #SpaldingMFA #amwriting #Skypoets #BlueskyPoets
From Athens to Tellico, Tennessee In the summer of my late teens my best friend’s father fathered me on things I thought men should do. Away in Athens, nested amidst dogwood trees, fields with lavender wildflowers, blended in green tinted meadows in Tennessee. I learned to listen to crickets build networks where telephones may not ring often. A neighbor called my best friend’s father’s father and asked if he had hired help. Just my Korean grandson and his black best friend. My best friend’s father spoke about girls, intimacy while driving on Tellico mountain roads, as each car passed he pushed my head down, shrouded my skin from folks with hatred for brown.
What can be done in 14 lines? An American sonnet #poem from my collection about my youth.
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By the North Sea Felixstowe back then, was not as quiet as this morning, when I was a boy. The sun perching over, stretching arms, glazing a path across the North Sea, greyed silhouettes of transport ships dancing along the horizon, seagulls are surfing tunnelled air waves in the sky-wind’s crests. There were more stones across the beach shores in the seventies, hills of overflowing smooth sanded stones before ball pits in indoor kid’s fun centres, that we would jump in. The personal beach sheds against the coastal walkway have rainbow colours and are locked until the warmer seasons come. One in bright teal, titled “Albert, by the sea,” next to the lavender titled “Nan and Granddad’s Place.” I came to here too early. I can smell the six overlapping fish and chip shops, their greasy battered sausages, large codfish, salt and vinegar drenched chips yearning my drips of saliva from taste buds, while the doors are closed. It’s after Boxing Day and these business owners maybe still in a drunken piss and tummies full of family ale and dessert afters from the days before. I see the illusion of myself in the entertainment parlour, ears engorged from clashing beeps and popping music from the maze of silly penny and shilling games before video games were thought of, lasting hours lost in Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island. Waves pounding against the rocks, not sand, jolts emotions, surfaces memories, brings heartbeats to deep breaths. I can see the spirit of my mum at the wooden shed vendor selling fifty pence shellfish cups, my mum slurping them, smiling her silenced life-frowns away.
Hello all, I am just on here sharing what I love, a #poem about the coast of #England where I once wandered in my youth.
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#SpaldingMFA #amwriting #BlueskyPoets
Can You Taste the Ivory Coast Chocolate? His tears at night dampened his wooden plank bed Throbbing bones, sliced skin, bruised back from whippings Losing count in his tenth winter, memory of the night Seized quietly in Mali’s trees at play Throbbing bones, sliced skin, bruised back from whippings Lost, a mouse with no cheese to guide, no paths back After being seized quietly in Mali’s trees at play He is driven by his fear, far from home Lost, a mouse with no cheese to guide, no paths Machete, guillotine gates, if he scurries He is driven by his fear, far from home Farming cocoa beans when the sun is shown Machete, guillotine gates, if he scurries Duplicating days climbing trees, slicing Farming cocoa beans when the sun is shown Dragging dense bags of cocoa pods, shuffling Duplicating days climbing trees, slicing A single pod placed in hand, skin slicing Dragging dense bags of cocoa pods, tussling He helps slowly moving friend, whip slicing A single pod placed in hand, skin slicing Strength from corn paste and banana eating He helps slowly moving friend, whipped slicing No gas mask spraying toxic fumes on trees Strength from corn paste and banana eating Bugs feel fumes now, his fumes compiled mildly No gas mask spraying toxic fumes on trees The wind sparsely hints him of family Bugs feel fumes now, his fumes compiled mildly Losing count in his tenth winter, the nights The wind sparsely hints him of family His tears at night dampened his wooden plank bed
#poem #poet #poetry #poetsofbluesky #poetsonbluesky #blacksky #poetrycommunity #SpaldingMFA #amwriting #Skypoets #BlueskyPoets
She Was Called Plansee We drove through bending, elevating, descending Alpine Forest roads to Linderhof Palace, though what wasn’t made by human hands paused me, pulled me to the road’s frame of my picture. Scanning the canvas, senses stuck in the silence of an eyeblink. Crystal Jade rippling lake comforted in the clutches of Austria’s Alpine mountains in teal tints from their kisses with the azure sky. The wind raspy, gentle, holding me in a space, listening to my breath align to waves beats against the lake’s shore. In this moment, I can exist to exist past the moments I seek not to remember. In this moment, I seek to be selfish even from my love, beside me lost in her moment, as I, raising my arms, my Titanic movie instant to be a sail bringing each sensory connection closer, stress stripped, a layer of my tree cleansed, tussling sand tumbling through my hourglass.
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#poetry
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#blacksky
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#amwriting
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#BlueskyPoets
Picture of poem titled The Weight He Carried.
#poem #poet #poetry #poetsofbluesky #poetsonbluesky #blacksky #poetrycommunity #SpaldingMFA #amwriting #Skypoets #BlueskyPoets
